Isabella Maria Simonette
by clumsykeys
Summary: I never met my Mother. I never met my Father either. Because I believe, that when my Mother left, my true father died. Because I can't see anyone wanting to be with a man like this Charles Simonette." Please read and comment, I will be finishing this! :


Do you know what it feels like to feel like your getting absolutely nowhere?  
That no matter what you do, or say, or accomplish; it just isn't enough?

Well, if so, I definitely feel for you. I really, really do - Because that's the reality of my life, since birth. It's the only thing I know. Even if I do the absolute best, "You could've done better." Not even a pat on the back,  
or a slight smile. No, because when you're the daughter of the smartest man in the world, what good is trying if you fail?

For someone so smart, he's absolutely clueless.

That's why I, Isabella Maria Simonette, am the disappointment of my father's entire Italian life. And for what? Not being as smart as he is. Figures.

I gave up trying to make him proud of me years ago; Because I'll never be good enough. Simple as that.

----------------------------- Childhood ----------------------------------

"Daddy, I got an A+ on my alphabet quiz!" I squealed, as I was excited, and hoping he'd be proud of me. Just wanting him to be proud of me. Acknowledge me.

You see, I was only in kindergarten. I was smiling the biggest smile ever, missing my two front teeth,  
and this man would barely ever pay me any attention. So I studied for my quiz with my teacher during recess just so that I could make sure I would pass. This was a big deal for me.

He barely gave me a glance. The only reason I knew he heard me was the way his eyebrow twitched when I squealed. He then preceded to tell me, a kindergartner, "Don't squeal, it's bad for your jugular." And went back to what he was recently working on. Obviously, as a kid, I felt dejected and confused.  
I had no clue what a jugular was.. The smile once adorning my face, slipped off, and I felt the tears building in my eyes. But, from previous experiences, I learned that my Father does not tolerate tears. So I did the only thing I knew how to do; I hid my feelings and left silently.

I had set on my bed for hours. Trying to figure out where I had gone wrong. Why he wasn't proud of me.  
Why he seemed to act like he didn't want me. Like I was a burden. Maybe that was what I was, a burden.  
I looked around at my room, as I finally let a few tears escape my eyes, and remembered when I had wanted so bad to paint my room, and have friends over, to impress them with pink walls; just like them.. My Father simply said, "No." My room had been solid white forever, because any other color was "impure", as my Father had called it.

--------------------------- End of Flashback -------------------------------

Since I was in kindergarten, I've kept a bitter sweet smile on my face; and no one can even tell that I'm slowly breaking inside. It's been almost 16 years. I had to ask my health teacher why I was bleeding when I turned 8. It turns out, the stress of hiding everything, made me start my period years before I even knew that women had to go through that. Lucky for me, I stopped especially early. I hit menopause at age 17.

Turns out, my body thinks I'm a women around the age of 52.  
Turns out, the doctor's say that means I won't be having children.  
Turns out, I didn't realize I even wanted children until he uttered that sentence.  
Turns out, I never told my Father because I knew he wouldn't care.  
Turns out, it hurt more than it should have when I found out I was right. He didn't.

You see, I'm almost 21 now.  
I never met my Mother. She didn't stay around long enough for me to know her, and didn't care enough about me to take me with her. She just left me. Didn't call, didn't write, didn't even try to get back into my life.  
I don't even remember what she looks like. Not a picture in sight.

Sometimes I wonder if I look like her, and maybe that's the reason my Father never looked at me.  
Maybe her leaving affected him more than he let show, and my face reminded him.. But he never spoke, so I never asked.

I never met my Father either. Because I believe, that when my Mother left, my true father died.  
Because I can't see anyone wanting to be with a man like this Charles Simonette. So I make myself believe, that this man isn't my father. My father was charming, and witty and just a bit shy; Yet he fell in love, and had me. And I believe that's when it changed. So that's what I've believed for 21 years, that I'm the mistake that killed him.. And no ones corrected me.


End file.
